Not the least deeply interested in the events of the
morning, was the old negro. During their meal,
at the service of which he assisted, his eyes scarcely
quitted her whom be appeared to regard with a mingled
feeling of awe and adoration; nay, such was his abstraction
that, in attempting to place a dish of game on the
rude table at which the party sat, he lodged the whole
of the contents in the lap of Middlemore, a gaucherie
that drew from the latter an exclamation of horror,
followed however the instant afterwards by Sambo’s
apology.

“Then will you by some means contrive to lap
it up,” returned the officer quaintly.

Sambo applied his napkin, and the dinner proceeded
without other occurrence. Owing to an apprehension
that the night air might tend to renew the inflammation
of the wounded arm, the boat was early in readiness
for the return of the party, whose day of pleasure
had been in some manner tamed into a day of mourning,
so that long before sun set, they had again reached
their respective homes at Detroit.